


Green Light

by prolix (shal)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Desi!Harry Potter, Endgame Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Friends to Lovers, India, Infidelity, Infidelity is not between Harry and Draco, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), POV Draco Malfoy, Romance, Slightly Ambiguous/Open Ended Ending, poc!Harry Potter, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-11 09:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15312330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shal/pseuds/prolix
Summary: Avoiding the dissolution of your relationship by taking an impromptu trip to India seems like a bad idea. In this case, it turns out to be a rather good one.Loosely based on the song “Green Light” by Lorde





	1. Different Drinks at the Same Bar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Novaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novaa/gifts).



> This is based off of Prompt #6: the song “Green Light” by Lorde.
> 
> Thanks to the mods for their unrelenting patience! This fic would literally not exist without them.

All was well. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself.

Draco had always been a good actor. From his school-time dramatics to his war-time facades, Draco was always very good at hiding how he really felt—whether he was hiding from others or himself. Pansy, though, was always very good at seeing through his acts.

“What is wrong?” she signed in Wizarding BSL—the language she had taken to using avidly after being hit by a curse that had severed her vocal chords after the War—after cornering him at the bar of the pub they were at. 

“Nothing, Pans. Just getting Astoria and I a drink.” said Draco in response, a futile attempt at trying to avoid the topic—he knows. Pansy rolled her eyes, and although he sees it coming, he doesn’t manage to duck fast enough to avoid being cuffed on the side of his head by one of her slender hands.

He sent her a glare in response, the same one that used to scare her when they were kids, but it seems to have no effect. She simply shrugged and signed her original question out again, hands shifting more aggressively in order to emphasize her annoyance (Draco could tell; he annoyed her quite often).

He decides to tell her some of it. Because if he doesn’t, she’ll just drag it out of him tomorrow morning when he’s hungover and vulnerable and willing to spill even his darkest of secrets for a sip of her godlike hangover potion. 

“Astoria and I just had a spat, that’s all.” he mutters, the words thick in his throat as if he was trying to swallow too much bread, “Nothing to get worked up over.”

Pansy rolled her eyes, “This is more than a spat. You have been hiding at the bar for 20 minutes. Come back.”

“I’m not hiding,” Draco said, “I just want some time to myself.”

Pansy hesitated, trying to come up with a response. Her hands were poised mid-air, ready flutter with a viciousness only she was capable of. He cut her off before she could.

“I‘m fine, Pans, really.”

Pansy didn’t look convinced, her brows furrowed under her thick black fringe, but her resolve crumbled.

“You will tell me later,” she signed.

Draco did not respond.

 

***

He made his way over to the table all his friends were sitting at a few minutes later, fed up with his own brooding. He also realized that he had been “getting drinks” for almost half an hour now and probably looked incredibly suspicious. He slid into the circular booth, barely managing to catch himself from tripping over the wheels of Astoria’s magi-wheelchair. He set her drink— an obnoxiously colorful cocktail with enough sugar to rival Honeydukes—next to her plate of chips, watching as she oscillates between his edge of the table to the other in order to both eat and chat with Nott at the same time. Her head whips back to look at him immediately, eyes still torn between guilt and remorse as they had been the past few days.

He ignores her for a moment, taking small sips of his Firewhiskey instead to feel the warmth that blossoms in his chest which each swallow. He finds himself looking around the table rather than indulging in a conversation, his desire to brood tugging at him for just a bit longer. He can barely make out the faces of those he’s sitting with, the pub’s lighting is far to dim for such a luxury, so he tries make out who’s who by their voices. Blaise is to his left, gossiping in hushed tones with Pans about the latest Ministry scandal. Pans, of course, is silent but had the lights been a bit brighter he would have probably caught a glimpse of her hands signing in response. Longbottom sat next to her, talking about what seems to be Herbology (some sort of Muggle “weeds”) to Granger who’s next to him in fast, over-excited voices. Weasley is probably sandwiched between Granger and Nott, and is probably looking notably lost if the absence of his usual companion—Potter, who was missing from last week’s Pub Night as well, was any indication.

His eyes caught on Astoria again, who was staring at him still. Her long, dark hair falls down over one shoulder, exposing the soft profile of her face. She seemed to glow in the dim lighting, her skin coated in gold and shining like fresh honey. She’s warm, she’s beautiful, she’s his Astoria. 

She returns to her conversation with Nott. They talked about her work, complaining about the absurdities she’s forced to deal with as a coach for her former team, the Holyhead Harpies.

There’s a brief lull in conversation between Nott and Astoria, and she took the opportunity to take a few sips of her drink, locking eyes with Draco’s in one moment and looking away the next. Draco reached out, lacing his long fingers with hers because if they were going to try and make this work, they ought to fucking act like it.

She doesn’t look up, but she doesn’t pull away either. She doesn’t say anything; she never says anything, does she? Instead she turned to her cocktail and takes another sip or two, each a bit larger than the last, before resuming her conversation with Nott. He turned back to his whiskey. All was well.


	2. Brand New Sounds In My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brand new sounds lead to brand new ideas (and whether these ideas are good is another story...).

He stepped out of the pub, unable to manage the awkward and tense atmosphere any longer. Despite the presence of his other friends, he wasn’t able to truly draw his attention away from Astoria. He needed a break. A few moments to collect himself and prevent him from shouting the angry, intrusive thoughts that began popping into his head whenever he spent too much time thinking about her lately. 

He hung around the entrance for bit, not quite sure what to do with himself. He could hear the sound of laughter from inside, almost drawing him back in, but he resists. He focused on the fact that it was brighter out here, the city lights illuminating the streets and casting a shifting array of colors on everything they touched. He liked it.

He decided to walk down the street, hoping the distance will allow him to clear his head a little more. It was late, maybe half-past eleven, and those who weren’t stuffed into the pubs or restaurants that lined the street seemed to be aimlessly stumbling around with him. This was another thing he had always enjoyed about Muggle London: the sheer size of it meant he was never alone, no matter the time of day.

He passes a couple of more pubs, a convenience store, and a food truck before stumbling upon the Indian restaurant. It was a small, brown building tucked under what appeared to be a flat or something similar. Two large windows on either side of its metallic door offered a glimpse of a quaint, warm little spot. The name of the restaurant, painted onto the base of the flat’s balcony, was Karma.

Draco walked in, enticed by how warm it looked from the outside (The fact that he hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch didn’t hurt either). It looked just as small as it seemed from the outside. The entrance led directly into a small space with a bar. A woman sat at one of its stool’s and was engrossed in conversation with the bartender. The bartender, seeing Draco walk in, calls for the host to get him a table. He’s taken through a narrow hallway that gives him a glimpse at the kitchen which leads into a room slightly larger than the one he had entered in through. He’s seated at one of the tables and given a menu and left alone again.

He’d always enjoyed coming to new restaurants, especially those that served cuisines he had never tried before because he was never really given the opportunity to appreciate them as a child. The most exotic food that the Malfoy’s had ever had was Italian and that was only because Blaise’s family had been their close friends. Thus, when he found that he didn’t recognize a single dish on the menu, he was rather excited.

“What do you recommend?” Draco asked the waiter.

The waiter, a younger man with dark skin and even darker hair, appeared to have heard this question many times before, for he responded with no hesitation, “I would recommend the Chicken Tikka Masala, sir.”

Draco quickly glanced down at the menu to see what exactly that was. It was a chicken curry, one that was less spicy in particular. He nodded to the waiter, “That sounds great, yes, I’ll have that.”

“Would you like that with rice or naan?” the waiter asked, writing his order down on a small notepad as he waited for Draco to reply.

Draco then ordered some Garlic Naan as well, for the waiter recommended it. When the waiter leaves with his order, he took the spare moment to pour himself a glass of water into the silver metal cups provided to him and looks around the restaurant. Draco had a good view of the room since he was seated in the corner. Only one other table is occupied besides him. An Indian man sits there, speaking with a man who seems to be his colleague. A waiter brings out their order and Draco’s eyes are drawn to the food. A plate of chicken, bright red and charred, actually sizzles on a bed of vegetables and is garnished with a succulent looking lime. At this moment, Draco is sure that stumbling in here was a fantastic decision.

The ambience of the restaurant didn’t hurt his opinion either. The lights were dim and toned green, giving the entire room a “cool” vibe that he thinks Pansy would have loved (probably because it would’ve reminded her of the Slytherin Common Room). The music was foreign, probably Indian, but upbeat enough to keep him awake. It was gloriously new, and Draco adored it. 

His food arrived and once again, he was struck by how delicious it looked. The Chicken Tikka was bright orange, easily comparable to Weasley’s hair, and the Garlic Naan was pale, contrasting well with the louder shade of curry. His first bite was heavenly. The flaky, savory Naan paired with the tasty, slightly sweet, curry was a deadly combination. Draco had never eaten anything better in his life; he was sure of it. 

Draco finished most of his food, packing away the rest in a takeaway box to enjoy tomorrow. The waiter returned with the check, “Did you enjoy the food, sir?”

“Yes, of course, it was wonderful,” said Draco. 

Spurred on by an impulse he couldn’t quite explain, Draco asked, “What is your name?”

“I’m Vijay, sir”

“I’m Draco. Are you from here, Vijay?” asked Draco, hoping he wasn’t being too presumptuous as he based the question off of the man’s thick accent.

“I’m originally from India. I came here six months ago for this job.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Oh, all the time, especially the food. The food here is great, of course, but nothing is better than your mother’s cooking, you know?” Draco, whose mother never cooked for him (they had houseelves for that), did not know, but he nodded anyways. 

“What part of India are you from? What city?”

“I’m from Chennai. It’s on the coast of South India.” said Vijay. Draco wished he had paid more attention to the geography lessons he’d been given as a child, for he couldn't quite remember anything about India, much less South India. A small part of him hoped that one day he’d have the chance to go, maybe with Astoria.

Astoria. He had completely forgotten that he had just left her at the pub alone. A quick Tempus charm revealed the time, just past midnight—late enough for their Pub Night to be winding down. He paid his bill, grabbed his takeaway, and practically ran out of the restaurant. Draco began to walk towards the pub, hoping that he could slip back into their group without too many questions asked.

He found himself feeling guilty as he walked back. It was not a new sensation. One could even say that he and guilt were familiar with each other; they’d become intimately acquainted after the War. He hoped that his friends would forgive him for disappearing. They only met once a week, and the least Draco could’ve done was to indulge in their presence while he had the chance. They were all more than he deserved, better friends than he ever could have hoped for after what he had done in the past. 

Astoria herself was a gemstone in his otherwise mundane life. He didn’t deserve her either and maybe she had realized that herself… maybe that’s why she had strayed away from him. It made sense, he thought, for the Malfoy’s had always been tainted (unfortunately, he only realized this after the War itself). They supported heinous Dark Lords amongst other unsavory things, and Draco would never escape that legacy—no matter what he did; the Prophet brought it up any chance they had. 

Draco made it to the pub and walked up to their table, bypassing the privacy charms that were set to shield their group against reporters. They hadn’t been there when he left, so Ginny must’ve gotten here, then. The press adored Gin; she was the Post-War dream, after all, a war hero turned Quidditch star. The reporters had a tendency to flock towards their group whenever she was around— especially if Astoria, who was nearly as popular due to her former-player-current-coach status, was there too.

Post-War Britain was obsessed with Quidditch. No one cared too much about the traditional war heroes anymore—Potter, Granger, and Weasley probably wet the bed in happiness when they figured that out. Quidditch-mania had taken over, and it didn’t seem like it would lose its hold over England anytime soon.

Thus, his relationship with Astoria was fairly high-profile. Not as popular as Potter and Ginny’s had been before it ended a couple of years back, but it was famous enough to make the Prophet on a regular basis. Draco’s infamous past was not particularly helpful, in this case.

Once again, couldn’t help but wonder if this was why Astoria had slipped away from him. Did it get to be too much? Did it frighten her? The way they couldn’t even go out dancing—something they used to do often—without being plastered over the front page of every tabloid. Astoria’s magi-wheelchair allowed her to move without touching the chair due to a charm that linked her thoughts to the chair’s movements, so she was able to spin and twirl in her chair at will. Draco would often be found guiding her into their own little waltz on the edges of a dance floor before the press became too much for them to even try anymore. Had she wanted someone more low-profile?

His thoughts had driven him into an awful mood. He wanted to leave, to return to his flat, but he could force himself to stay for at least half an hour, right?. For the sake of his friends, who brightened his mood marginally.

Pansy and Blaise were at the other end of the pub, drunkenly throwing darts at both the given target and each other. Longbottom was chatting up the bartender, a woman he vaguely recognized from being in his year at Hogwarts, but he thought she may have been in Hufflepuff. Weasley and Granger were—

“Hey! Malfoy!” slurred Weasley, to Draco’s great amusement, “You came back.”

Granger, who should’ve had the decency to look embarrassed on behalf of her fiancé, was clearly just as drunk for all she did was giggle and tug at Weasley’s hair in response. Their loud, boisterous greeting caught the attention of Astoria and Ginny (and perhaps all of the other patrons of the pub as well). Astoria’s carefree expression seemed to harden at the sight of him and suddenly the awful feeling came back.

He suddenly didn’t think he could make himself stay any longer, not with Astoria here, not after spending sometime outside, without her...not after getting to feel how refreshing the distance was. It was selfish, but his friends would understand. Hopefully.

“Honey, I was feeling ill and took a walk to clear my head a bit.” Draco told her, suppressing a wince at his half-lie. 

Astoria seemed to believe it or at least she acted as if she did. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“It’s my job to worry about you.” said Astoria, cracking a smile. For a moment Draco was propelled back to a time when things had been normal between them, but he was slowly coming to the realization that things hadn’t truly been normal for a while. Draco gave her a smile in return albeit he wouldn’t be surprised if it looked as brittle as he felt. 

“Maybe you should go home,” suggested Astoria, and it was easy for Draco to agree.

He began the short walk home, passing through the glowing city which is still very awake. His mind was buzzing with thoughts of Astoria, of what had happened, of their relationship when he heard it. Indian music pulsing out of the Muggle car that swerves past him as he walked down the street. 

Draco was suddenly reminded of the Indian restaurant he ate at. The fantastic food, the taste of which he remembered so vividly. Vijay and his clear love for his home. The music—loud and brand new—echoing in his mind the soundtrack to a new beginning.

And Draco wanted more.

The idea struck him like a Bludger to the head. It’s irrational and impulsive and almost impossible but with the beat of both his heart and the rhythmic Indian drums pounding in his head it seemed so, very possible. 

He slipped into a deserted alleyway, checked to see that there were no Muggles watching, pulled out his wand and apparated back to his flat. 

As soon as his feet hit solid ground, he cast every packing spell he knows. A suitcase began to fill itself with his clothes, his toothbrush amongst other toiletries come flying into his hands from the washroom, and he thinks he can hear a the sound of kitchen drawers rushing to make him a sandwich. He needed to get out—fast.

He was in the process of shrinking whatever can’t fit into his suitcase into his pockets when Astoria rolled through the Floo, the fireplace temporarily growing larger to accommodate for her magi-wheelchair.

“What do you think you’re doing? Where are you going?” asked Astoria, rolling up beside him. Her words were coated in panic, the thought of which gave a small part of Draco some pleasure. 

“I think we need a break.” said Draco in response, trying to remember the extension charm that would make his pockets infinitely larger. 

“Draco, would you fucking look at me?” snapped Astoria.

Draco looked up, meeting her gaze. He was hoping to avoid seeing her before he left, no matter how shitty that made him, so that he wouldn’t change his mind but he found himself with no other choice. He met her warm, brown eyes and repeated, “I think we need a break.”

“Where did all of this come from? Where are you even going? I thought you wanted to work things out.”

“I don’t really know yet. I just… can’t handle this as well as I thought I could.” 

“So you were just going to leave without telling me?”

“Astoria…”

“No! That’s what you were going to do wasn’t it? I said I was sorry, Draco, what else can I do?” Astoria said, hysteria creeping her tone, “You can’t just leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you; I’ll come back I promise.”

She didn’t look convinced, “You’re crazy, Draco, You can’t just run away from your problems like a coward all the time.”

“You’re going to tell me about cowardice, Astoria, really? After your family hid away from the war rather than fighting in it” shouted Draco, unable to control the anger that had risen within him and picking at an argument that had been building momentum for many years. Astoria shrunk away from him, a small flicker of fear in her eyes.

“At least we didn’t fight for the wrong side!” Draco didn’t know what to say in response. They stood in silence for a few minutes, catching their breath.

“This is a temporary solution. Why can’t you just support me?” said Draco quietly after taking a moment to calm down, “I supported you after your accident.”

His stomach dropped at the words, which had slipped out before he could properly think about them. Whatever calm Astoria had seemed to have reached in those few, precious moments disintegrated. “Fuck off, Draco! How could you compare my accident to your desire to just disappear?” 

“Astoria, I—“ Draco began.

“Just leave, Draco! Isn’t that what you wanted? I don’t think I can do this either.” said Astoria, her voice fractured.

“I’m sorry.“

“Just stop,” she said, head falling into her hands, “How can I support something that hurts our relationship?”

Anger swelled within hin him suddenly, overpowering any guilt he may have felt. “It’s funny that _you_ of all people are asking me that as if you didn’t expect me to support you kissing some fucking bloke!”

A glass broke in the kitchen as he spun away from her, thrown to the floor by his wild magic. He heard Astoria gasp, horrified. His body thrummed with fury, with magic. He was so angry he could barely force air in and out of his lungs.

He apparated.


	3. Seeing You Down Every Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you really see someone down *every* road if there’s only one road? Perhaps

Draco landed in the middle of a deserted and dusty alley and threw up. The long-distance apparation wreaking havoc on his body, making him dizzy and disoriented and prone to throwing up anything he may have ingested. He swallowed the bile that had risen up in his throat and looked around, squinting because the sun is casting a vicious glare into his eyes. He had no idea where he was.

He pulled his wand out of his pocket, casting the locator charm his mother had taught him to use as a child had he ever gotten lost—which he did, often. His wand seemed to hesitate a moment before the words appeared out of the tip of his wand, the silver words billowing out and hanging mid-air like smoke. He had apparated to Chennai.

Chennai, India. 

He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. He blinked—once, twice, three times—but, no, the words were still there. He had apparated to the city Vijay had told him about on a whim. He waved the words away and began to slowly walk out of the alley, trying to figure what to do next.

As he made his way out, it was like a Muffliato had been cancelled. He was assaulted by noise; the chattering crowds of people around him and blaring horns from the mess of traffic that seemed to be blocking the road in front of him were louder than anything he had ever heard before. He hadn't realized how quiet England was until now.

He seemed to be in some sort of marketplace. A narrow, cobblestone path had small kiosks brimming with goods lined pressed up against one side while tall, dirt-stained buildings lined the other. Vendors were shouting in a language he couldn't even begin to understand, and a huge crowd of customers walked through the market, stopping occasionally to shop and barter and talk to others. Children, nearly emaciated walked around in their faded clothes, trying to sell slippers and begging for money. 

Draco stumbled through all of this, pushing past the crowd with hopes of getting to the other side. The heat was almost as bad as the Fiendfyre. Draco had never been one to sweat easily, but the back of his shirt could easily be considered drenched in perspiration. In the back of his mind, Draco wondered if one day he'd ever ask Potter whether he had ever felt a heat so distinctly similar. The stray thought was laughable, and Draco tucked it away for another Pub Night when he was so drunk he could hardly remember how to think, much less speak to Potter in a normal manner. 

He caught glimpses of the kiosks as he walked past, his eyes catching on patterned silk scarves his mother would adore and jewel-toned bangles that would glitter nicely on Astoria’s wrists. The brief though of Astoria brought guilt crashing bankp down upon him, but he was still toolbar his angry to return. A small, less prideful part of him knew he was being irrational and that Astoria hadn't really done anything to deserve this… but her unwillingness to accept that something had changed between them kept him from going back.

Besides, wasn't this what he wanted?

He didn't know. He hadn't made a decision this quickly since his choice to follow the Dark Lord, and they all knew how that turned out. He wasn't used to taking risks—he hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor for a bloody reason. He didn't have anywhere to stay, he didn't know how to exchange his galleons into muggle currency, and he didn't even bring his luggage with him (unless one counted the extra pair of shoes he had shrunk into his pocket). He wasn't even sure if there were Wizards in this part India, so he couldn't even begin to imagine attempting to find Diagon-Alley’s Indian counterpart. Unfortunately, this also meant he didn't know where to find an owl to tell his boss that he was finally planning to use up his large collection of vacation days.

He was still stuck in his head when he ran into Potter.

Draco thought he might’ve walked past the man, as it was inevitable to bump into people when one was in such a big crowd, but he looked up for a second and caught himself looking straight into Potter’s green eyes. 

“Malfoy! Is that you?” said Potter, shocked.

He had the strongest urge to lie to him and say: _“No, it is not me. Please go away,”_ because the last person Draco wanted to see while taking an anger-induced trip to India was Harry fucking Potter. Unfortunately, the Pureblood etiquette lessons that his mother had instilled in him as a kid made him say, “Yes,” instead.

Potter said something he couldn’t hear over the chattering crowds of people around him. 

“What?” Draco nearly shouted in response. 

Potter seemed to repeat himself, but he still couldn’t catch what he was saying despite leaning in in an attempt to. He shook his head at the other man, gesturing to his ear in an attempt to convey that he couldn’t hear him.

Then, Potter pulled out his wand—right in the middle of a huge crowd of Muggles—and cast a Muffliato. 

“Potter! What the fuck are you doing?” hissed Draco, shoving the man’s wand down and looking around, hoping the Muggles hadn’t seen. He couldn’t afford to go to prison; he’d narrowly escaped incarceration once before, he doubled he would be so lucky again, especially since his Saviour would probably be sharing a cell with him.

“Don't worry. It's not like England here; the Wizards live amongst the Muggles,” said Potter, chuckling,”It took me a while to get used to it too.”

“But… how is that possible?” asked Draco.

“Have you seen how huge the crowds are? How busy it is? The Muggles don’t pay close enough attention to notice magic… they're too distracted by everything else going on around them.”

Draco nodded and was a bit intrigued as to how seamless India’s Wizards were so seamlessly integrated into Muggle society without any problems arising. He wondered if there were other nations in which this was common; he’d have to research it later.

“Wait, what are you doing here? How long have you been here?” Draco asked.

“It's a bit complicated. Why don't we drop by a restaurant nearby and catch up there rather than standing in the middle of…” Potter gestured to the crowd around them, which hadn't stopped their seemingly endless movement since they started talking.

Potter turned around and began to walk in the opposite direction, leading the way for Draco to follow. As the walking through the sea of people, Draco began to notice the magic that he hadn’t before. Vendors were levitating their jewelry so that they glittered attractively in the sun, customers Accio’d food and pashminas at leisure, and children ran around transfiguring cheap toys into stray dogs. What shocked Draco was the ease at which people of all ages seemed to utilize magic and that most of them were doing it without wands.

Potter took a sharp left, leading Draco under an archway and into what seemed to be a café. Small tables meant for no more than three people were crowded around a counter covered with displays of both sweet and savoury pastries. The thick smell of spices mingled with the sweet smell of cake, chocolate, and coffee, creating an intoxicating scent that nearly made Draco salivate despite having eaten an hour or two before.

They sat at one of the tables. Potter ordered some sort of stuffed triangular pastry while Draco didn’t get anything. He still wasn’t sure if Galleons would be acceptable here, no matter how integrated Potter made this place seem.

“So, why did you come here?” asked Draco, repeating his question from earlier.

“Well, a few months ago, while cleaning up Grimmauld Place, I discovered that my father was Indian. I found a few of his parent’s cookbooks and journals which I think might've been salvaged from Godric’s Hollow by the Order. His parents had supposedly immigrated to Britain before he was born. I sort of went into a… ‘frenzy’, if I were to use ‘Mione’s words. I started cooking Indian food, I visited a temple, and I even contacted Padma and Parvati too see if I could learn more about my culture. Eventually, I wasn't satisfied with what I had in England; I wanted more. 

“So I did some research into my family tree and came here in hopes of finding my grandmother’s sister and her family.”

“And did you find them?” he asked, intrigued.

“I did!” said Potter, cheeks flushed with excitement, “My grandmother’s sister is still alive, and she lives with her son and his wife and her grandkids. I’m staying with them at their house now…”

Potter practically glowed with pride as he told Draco about his family. It seemed to be more than just café lights reflecting off his inky hair and dark skin; Draco thought that this had to be what genuine happiness looked like, and he came to the realization that he hadn’t felt it in a while.

“...So, why did you come here?” 

The other man’s question pulled him out of his thoughts. He wanted to say he was here on a business trip or visiting a friend, but he felt as if Potter would easily recognize the lie for what it was. Thus, he decided to just be honest, and in a statement that went against every Slytherin instinct he had, he said, “I don’t really know, actually. It was a bit of an impulse decision, really.”

He looked like he was holding back laugh, as if the idea of Draco making any sort of impulsive decision was an unfathomable idea—Draco couldn’t blame him. 

“When did you get here?” asked Potter.

“This morning.”

The statement caused Potter’s eyebrows to raise in surprise, but he made no comment. They both ate in a slightly awkward silence for the next few moments, as neither of them had really been good friends with each other before. Frankly, Draco was surprised their conversation had continued on for as long as it had without becoming stilted or tapering off.

“Where are staying?” Potter asked just as he was about to leave, stuffing the last bit of what he called a ‘Samosa’ into his mouth. Draco doesn’t think it’s because Potter wants to see him again but general courtesy. 

Once again, Draco is unable to force himself to lie to Potter. He isn’t sure why the deceitful words get caught in his throat, for they had never done so before, so he said, “I don’t really know yet,” and hoped he didn’t sound as pitiful as he thinks he does.

Then, Potter does the unthinkable:

He invites Draco to stay with him and his family.

*** 

They took some sort of taxi, something Potter called an “auto”, to Potter’s family’s home. It was a small, yellow and black contraption with no doors and only three wheels—unlike any Muggle car Draco had ever been in (he’d know; Astoria preferred them)—but it weaved through the heavy, slow-moving traffic with ease, so Draco couldn’t complain.

Draco took in the city around him as they drove through traffic. They passed buildings in varying states of repair, some worn with age and others incongruously luxurious. Trees, large and vibrant, adorned the streets, leaves lounging over rooftops and swaying in the breeze. Advertisements written in a language he couldn’t read were plastered over walls, bringing loud colors to buildings that might otherwise appear plain. The roads were a mess. Lanes were nonexistent; cars and autos and motorcyclists sped into eachother at high speeds, filling the air with a symphony of horns.

When they arrived at the house, Draco was surprised to see how similar in size it was to the Manor. It was a large white house, at least three stories tall with balconies and cylindrical columns lining its entrance. A black metal gate guarded the house, and when Potter and himself stepped through, he could see that the house’s large doors as well as the windows were left open. A large swing sat on the front porch, and a little girl sat on it, kicking her legs back and forth in order to move.

The little girl caught sight of Potter and jumped off the swing, running towards them, “Harry anna!”

“Hey, Nisha, how’s it going?” asked Potter, dropping into a crouch so that he and the girl were eye-to-eye. 

“Good! Who are you?” asked Nisha, looking at Draco.

Draco, both unprepared for the question and not really sure how to answer himself, attempted to come up with a coherent response, “I’m Harry’s… er—“

“Friend,” finished Potter, “He’s my friend from London.”

“Oh! Is he related to us too?” Nisha asked.

Potter chuckled, “Unfortunately, no, but he might be staying with us too…”

Nisha was practically vibrating with excitement, “Really? I’ll go tell Amma!”

“Wait!” called Potter in an attempt to stop her, but it was too late, Nisha had already run inside.

“Sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair whilst looking at Draco, “I was going to ask them first.”

“It’s fine. I don’t think you would’ve been able to stop Nisha if you tried.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty crazy. I can’t remember if I was that energetic as a child.”

“You probably were, Potter. Weren’t you defeating Dark Lords in nappies?”

“Shut up,” said Potter, rolling his eyes.

They went inside, entering into a living room before passing through another doorway that led them into a small dining room. A short, round woman with dark hair was placing dishes of food down on a long table covered with a vinyl tablecloth. Nisha sat at one of the chairs, filling a silver glass with a pitcher of water. An older girl, maybe fifteen years of age, sat in another seat engrossed in a book. A middle-aged man sat at the head of the table, and an elderly woman sat to his left. 

“So, Harry, when were you going to tell us we had a new houseguest?” said the woman after placing a bowl of white rice down on the table, sounding eerily like Molly Weasley. Her words caused everyone else in the room to look up at Draco. Draco felt his cheeks heating with embarrassment, not expecting the attention.

“Sorry, Rani aunty, this is Draco my friend from London. I ran into him at the market. He just got in today and mentioned that he didn't have anywhere to stay and I just—” 

“It’s fine, Harry! Any friend of yours is a friend of ours.” Rani said kindly, cutting off Potter’s rambling, “Draco, why don't you join us for lunch?”

“Sorry, I don't mean to intrude,” said Draco, taking a seat in one of the empty chairs.

“It's no problem, dear, I’m sure you're just as wonderful as Harry has been.”

He thinks he hears Potter snicker from beside him. 

Rani sat at the other end of the table and introduced the rest of the family, the Puttar’s (Euphemia Potter had apparently changed her last name once she moved to England to better fit in with a less integrated society), as they begin to eat. The other young girl, Nisha’s older sister, was Asha. The middle-aged man was Rani’s husband Ravi, and Ravi’s mom, Nalini. Nalini was Potter’s Grandmother’s sister. They resemble Potter in regard to the dark, unruly hair and copper toned skin, but Potter’s green eyes stand out against their darker ones.

They all ate Ravi’s delicious cooking, rice and lentils with chicken, whilst their conversation bounced from topic to topic. Everyone except for Potter and himself ate with their hands, and Draco finds it amusing to imagine the shock his parents would have felt had they been in his place. 

They were munching on succulent mangoes for dessert, and Draco was just beginning to feel something like hope curling into the pit of his stomach when Rani said, “Harry, why don’t you show Draco the guesthouse upstairs after you’re finished since that’s where you’ll both be staying.”

They both paused. Draco knew Potter, of course, so it shouldn’t be a big deal but they weren’t best mates or anything. He suddenly wondered how big this guesthouse was and how he’d survive staying in such close quarters with Potter of all people. 

It wasn’t like Draco could object—Potter’s family was doing him a favor after all—so he kept quiet, plastering a bright smile on his face and hoping it looked enthusiastic (judging by the strange look Nisha gave him, he wasn’t sure it was effective). Potter, on the other hand, seemed dangerously close to starting some sort of drama if his furrowed brows were any indication, but he resisted after a particularly forceful kick from Draco under the table.

And so they were roommates.

***

After lunch, Potter had taken him to the guesthouse as he had been asked to. It’s through a door near one of the main house’s bedrooms and up a long flight of stairs that makes Draco realize just how out of shape he really is. Potter immediately left, though, rather than indulging in the camaraderie they had established at the café, leaving Draco to his own devices. He wasn’t sure whether he liked the idea or not.

Draco attempted to write to Astoria. To explain where he had gone and why he had left but couldn’t quite get himself to actually send anything. Each attempt was too strained and awkward, so Draco ended up Incendio-ing most of his parchment. If Potter had been there, he probably would have thought Draco was a heavy smoker.

He decided to explore the guesthouse after that because the ‘tour’ Potter had given him was annoyingly vague. The front door led into a small kitchen and common room, two bedrooms, a shared bathroom, and what seemed to be a common room. The purpose of the second common room was unknown to him until he stumbled inside and was hit by a blast of air cold enough to make his teeth chatter. It was the only room with air conditioning; Potter had mentioned that there were only one or two per house because the concrete buildings didn’t allow for centralized AC—they were lucky that their guesthouse even had one.

He sat in the room for a while, relishing the cold air on his skin (and trying to convince himself that he was most definitely not waiting for Potter to come back). He called on one of his house elves in the meantime, Kori—his most loyal, and asked her to retrieve the rest of his luggage for him. He made sure the elf wouldn’t tell Astoria where he was; he’d tell her himself. Soon. Hopefully.

He went off to his bedroom sometime after that, not bothering with dinner after eating such a heavy lunch. He unpacked and tried to push away his boredom, tried to remind himself that this was supposed to be fun and freeing and not boring.

Yet, as he drifted to sleep, Draco was left wondering whether this trip had been a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god they were roommates ;)


	4. Wake Up In A Different Bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title really says it all...

Draco woke up in a pool of his own sweat. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the result of a nightmare or a night of hot sex but because his room was so. Bloody. Hot.

Wonderful. 

Draco, for the millionth time in the past few hours, began to wonder why he decided to come to India.

He dragged himself out of bed the following morning, body slick and sticky and fucking disgusting. He took a bath that was quite a bit longer than usual because he wasn’t used to washing himself with the large metal bucket of water a mug provided. He brushed his teeth with one hand and swatted flies with the other because even the bathroom had open windows (as if the ones throughout the house were not enough). He changed into a new shirt only to find it stained with sweat within minutes. The open windows allowed swarms of mosquitoes to buzz around him constantly whilst leaving irritable red bumps all over his skin. There also seemed to be an ever-present layer of dust on everything, no matter how often he swept it away. It was terrible, but he loved it.

It was so different from anything he had ever experienced. The Manor and his flat had always been cold, closed off, clean—everything this house was not. It was new, Refreshing.

He found Potter in the kitchen, head bowed over a mug of what might have been tea or coffee or whiskey for all Draco knew. Potter didn’t strike him as an alcoholic, though, so he gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“Hey, Potter,” said Draco, a bit weary having not seen the man since the afternoon before. He still wasn’t quite sure if they could be considered friends or if they were still merely the acquaintances they had been prior to meeting here.

“G’morning,” Potter yawned in response, and Draco took that to mean he shouldn’t overthink things. 

“I’m just going to go downstairs… take up Rani’s offer for breakfast.”

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a second,” said Potter, still hunched over his mug. As Draco walked past him, he saw that Potter also had what looked like letter clutched in his hands. A small voice in the back of his head wondered whether the other man was running from something too.

He made his way out of the guesthouse and down the stairs to the ground floor. He could hear Potter’s family eating in the dining room.

“His skin is so lovely, no? So fair,” he heard Rani say.

“Yes, yes, he’s very good looking. I wonder why he came to India, though?” said the deeper voice that belonged to Ravi.

“Harry said he didn’t mention it… I wonder if—“

Draco chose that moment to walk into the room, as he hoped the speculation surrounding himself would be kept to a minimum (Merlin knows he got enough of that back home). Rani and Ravi were the only ones sitting at the table, sheepish expressions plastered across their faces, but Draco acted as if he hadn’t heard anything to save them all some embarrassment.

“Good morning,” he said as he sat down at the table, relishing in the breeze from the ceiling fan above him. 

“Good morning, Draco, are you hungry? Would you like breakfast?” said Rani, a kind smile lighting up her face.

“If you wouldn’t mind…”

“Of course not!” She handed him a plate of food. He was given something Rani called a “dosa” which was similar to a crepe but more crispy in nature. It was served with coconut chutney, and although he was tempted to eat it with a fork and knife, it appeared easier to eat it with his hands like Ravi and Rani were doing.

“So, what do you do in London, Draco?” asked Ravi as they were eating.

“I do research for the Ministry of Magic. I specialize in magical anthropology, so I essentially study magic in relation to wizarding culture and society.” 

“Oh, that’s very nice, dear. Do you enjoy it?”

“I really do,” said Draco, cheeks heating at the endearment, “My parents raised me in strict adherence with Pureblood culture, so it’s nice to apply that knowledge in real life as well as learn about other societies and cultures. It lets me hold onto the good aspects of my culture while being open to those belonging to others. I wasn’t so... open towards others when I was younger, so I’m happy that this job gives me the chance to better myself.”

He had told them more than he had initially meant to, but Rani’s bright smile response was worth it. His parents had never really approved of his career because “research was too low-grade” for a Malfoy, so he couldn’t help but be happy to be appreciated

“You might want to consider speaking with Nalini, then,” said Ravi, “She’s a bit of an expert on Indian magic—I know it’s a bit different than Western magic. She taught us all our first few spells.”

“Oh, definitely! Do you think she’d be willing to teach me a few? Or answer a few of my questions?” said Draco, words flying out of his mouth as excitement bubbled up within him.

“Of course, of course, I’ll let her know when she wakes up that she should take on a new student. She’s already teaching Harry…”

The man in question walked into the room at that very moment and asked, “What am I being taught?”

“Magic,” chimed in Rani, “We were just telling Draco about how Nali aunty has been teaching you a few of her spells.”

“Oh, do you want to learn too?” Potter asked, directing a small smile at Draco.

“Yeah,” answered Draco around another bite of his dosa, “It might be helpful for the research I do.”

“Oh, you study magic, right? I think Hermione might’ve mentioned it.”

“Mhmm,” agreed Draco, his focus driven back to his dosa.

“What’s the plan for today?” asked Potter to Rani and Ravi.

“Well, I have to go to clinic, but Ravi’s going the store with the kids,” replied Rani, “Asha needs a new salwar for next month’s wedding.”

“Oh, I see. Can I come with?”

“Of course, Harry, you’re always welcome to join us. Do you want to come too, Draco?”

Draco, who didn’t have any plans, agreed. “When shall we go?”

“We’ll have to wait until Asha gets back from school,” said Ravi, “We’ll leave around 3, okay?.”

***

They walked into the clothing store, bright lights illuminating gowns and tunics in a wide range of colors. Asha walked ahead of them all, eager to select an outfit, with Nisha on her heels tugging Ravi by the hand along with her. Potter and himself trailed behind them.

Draco stopped to look at one of the mannequins, admiring the long embroidered tunics on display. They reminded him of dress robes, perhaps he’d have the time to buy one before they left. 

“They’re called kurtas,” said Potter, coming up behind him, “But they look like our robes, don’t they?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking… they look much better though,” replied Draco.

“They don’t seem as stiff; I’d much rather wear this to the next Ministry function than whatever I’ve been wearing before.”

Draco nodded in agreement before they left to catch up with Ravi, who was standing at a counter while Asha looked through a rack of clothes. Nisha seemed to have acquired a sheer red shawl at some point and was dancing around the store with it to the dismay of one of the shop’s clerks.

“What are you looking for?” asked Draco, walking up to Asha. He’d always been rather good at styling himself for certain functions (unlike Potter, the ignorant twat).

“A salwar kameez for next month’s wedding, Draco anna. I’m searching for something with a lot of work.”

“An-na?” repeated Draco, confused despite having heard Nisha call Potter the same.

“It means older brother in Tamil. We usually call any male who’s a bit older than us that. Same with older sister, akka, which you’ll hear Nisha call me sometimes.”

“Oh, I see.” said Draco, sure that his cheeks were a bit red. The term made him feel accepted by the family in a way; it was truly more than he deserved.

“We call our elders uncle and aunty, too, as a sign of… respect, I think? So Amma would be Rani aunty to you.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” said Draco, smiling, “Now, do you like this one?”

He held up a floor length purple dress with gold embellishments covering both the bodice and skirt. It seemed to have a matching shawl and pants to go with it. Asha’s face lit up as she caught sight of it, taking the dress in her arms, “That anarkali is so pretty, Draco! I’ll go try it on, yeah?”

“I have an outfit to try on too!” shouted Nisha, appearing suddenly with a dress three times her size. Ravi, attention caught by Nisha’s outburst, rushed to her side, taking the dress back to the rack it came from and scolding her in what he assumes to be Tamil. 

Potter was leaning on the counter Ravi had been at before, having just been engrossed in some conversation with the other man before. His gaze was trained on Nisha, observing her antics with an amused smile on his face. 

Draco was just about to stand next to him when Asha came out of her dressing room. She looked beautiful, caramel tinted skin and midnight hair highlighted by the bright purple dress. Judging by the smile on her face, she liked it as well.

“Very nice, Asha, shall we get this one?” called out Ravi. Nisha had been distracted with a chocolate. 

 

“Yes, Appa, Can we?”

“Yes, of course— go change,” said Ravi, turning to another clerk, “How much is it?”

“Four-five, sir.”

“Forty-five what?” whispered Draco, still unsure about what currency they used here, to Potter.

“Four thousand five hundred Indian rupees. That’s about ten galleons,” said Potter in response.

“Let me pay, Ravi uncle! It’ll be a gift,” said Potter, walking up to the counter and pulling a few colorful notes out of his pocket.

“No, no, don’t, Harry. It’s not necessary,” said Ravi, rushing up to the counter as well.

Potter’s seeker-reflexes came in handy, though, for his hand shot out with the money faster than Ravi could reach for his. Ravi sighed, accepting defeat, “Say thank you to Harry anna, Asha.”

“Thank you, Harry!” shouted Asha from the dressing room, having already gone back in to change.

A shout came from Nisha who was once again buried in a rack of anarkalis, “Harry anna! Harry anna! Buy me a dress, too!” 

***

They made their way out of the store, walking towards Ravi’s car when they saw the man sitting on the street. 

He wasn’t homeless, no, he was sitting in a chair with a tube of some sort of dark brown paste in hand and using said tube to pipe a design onto another woman’s hand.

“Can we get henna, Appa, please?” begged Nisha.

“Yeah, Appa, please? I haven’t gotten it done in ages…” chimed in Asha, shopping bags clutched in her hand.

The girls, who seemed to have Ravi wrapped around their fingers, quickly convinced their father. He made them stand and wait for the man to finish with the woman he was working on.

He wanted to turn to Potter, to ask him what this was, but the other man had left the store early, claiming he had an errand to run. Thus, Draco turned to Ravi instead, “Ravi uncle, what is henna?”

Ravi turned to him, features bright, “It’s a kind of temporary tattoo. The man will draw it on with that paste and once it dries it leaves an orange mark in that design on your skin. It’ll fade in a couple of weeks.”

The idea appealed to him for some reason, and he thought it might’ve been because the tattoo was tantalizingly temporary. After dealing with the permanence of the Dark Mark etched onto his forearm, something done on his own terms would be nice, wouldn’t it?

“Can I get one too?” asked Draco rather tentatively, not sure if doing such a thing was socially acceptable.

“Of course, man! Don’t let me stop you.” said Ravi. Ravi said something to the artist in Tamil, and told Draco to wait in line.

After the girls were done, he sat in the chair across from the man. It was hard to sit still in the heat, but he managed to do so as the man drew out a design on his right arm. It was a very different than getting the Dark Mark. The paste was cool on his skin rather than the fire-hot brand of the Mark, and the smell—natural and distinctive—was a thousand times better than the smell of burning flesh that still haunted his nightmares.

When the man was done, Draco felt awed by his tattoo. It was a gorgeous, intricate design full of swirling lines and embellished paisleys, and Draco adored it. And although he didn’t mind the Dark Mark, for it served as a reminder of the mistakes he’d made, the presence of something so beautiful on his skin made him feel as if he could truly be more than his heinous past. He felt as if one day he’d be deserving of a good life.

***

Draco walked up the stairs into the guesthouse, wanting to change out of his sweat-soaked clothes before joining the Puttar’s for tea, and found himself staring into the back of a half-naked Potter.

The man was facing away from him, leaving his back, sinewy and shining with droplets of water running down its smooth surface, on display. He could see the muscles flex beneath his skin as Potter pulled on a shirt, the fabric immediately becoming damp and clinging to his skin with the residual water Potter neglected to dry off after what Draco assumed was a shower.

Draco stood, transfixed, by the man for a few more moments before Potter spun around catching him mid-stare. Draco’s cheeks heated, heart speeding up as he was suddenly struck by embarrassment, but Potter didn’t say anything.

“You got a henna tattoo?” he asked, eyes drawn to the fresh design on his arm.

“Yeah,” Draco said, glancing down at his tattoo—the dark paste just beginning to dry and peel off of his skin, exposing the rust-colored design beneath, “It’s nice to have something that isn’t so permanent, you know?”

“I do,” Potter replied, green eyes cloudy with something Draco couldn’t read.

“I’m just going to change and go down for tea.”

Potter seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in, nodded and stepped to the side allowing Draco to pass. Draco quickly walked into his room, shuttling the door behind him and letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding in. 

He changed quickly and went down for tea, ready to try the Chai and biscuits Nisha had been raving about on the way home.

***

Draco tossed and turned in his bed that night, unable to sleep because of how bloody hot it was. 

He wished there was a fan in his room, but there was only one in the main common room and the AC room. He usually hung out downstairs, where ceiling fans were more prevelant, for a reason.

After an hour or two of being unable to sleep, Draco cast a Tempus charm. It was nearly 2 in the morning. He couldn’t stand this for any longer.

He got out of bed, pulling himself out of damp sheets that stuck to his back. He trudged out of his room, letting the dim light from the windows illuminate his way. He made it into the AC room, relishing in the cool blast of air that hit him. He didn’t bother with lights and was about to head for the only couch in the room when he spotted a figure curled up on one side of the couch.

Potter.

The man must’ve had the same idea he had or perhaps he had it earlier. Draco couldn’t blame him, but he also wouldn’t let this stop him from sleeping here for the night. If he had to spend another second in his room, he’d surely die of a heat stroke. He was too tired to overthink things. 

Draco curled up on the other side of the couch, allowing sleep to drag his eyes close. 

***

He woke to the sound of an annoying bird screeching from outside. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t want to… not yet.

He shivered, cold air rushing over his skin. He curled into himself, seeking warmth as the AC that had been a relief the night before became too much.

Something near him was radiating heat, and Draco subconsciously moved towards it. The heat moved closer to him, and he found himself engulfed by an fantastic scent, something distinctly clean and earthy. Something soft was tickling his nose…

He opened his eyes and found himself entangled in Potter. The man was pressed up against him and fast asleep. He took a moment to admire how peaceful the other man looked asleep, sans glasses. His shoulder length strands seemed to have fallen out of its usual bun allowing hair to fall against his face in wild curls, hiding the famous scar that bloomed across his forehead. 

Draco pushed the man away, waking him up in the process. 

“What’s going on? What are you doing?” gasped Potter, sitting up straight.

“Nothing, Potter. I think we both decided crashing here was a good idea last night. I can’t blame you; it’s too hot to do anything else,”

“I-I was here first, though! Why couldn’t you go downstairs, Malfoy?”

“It was the middle of the night, Potter—don’t get your knickers in a twist. I was tired. It was hot. I’m sorry. Next time I’ll sleep on the floor, yeah?”

A blush marred Potter’s cheeks, and he caught a glimmer of something he couldn’t quite read pass through the man’s eyes, “No, no, it’s fine. I was just… surprised.” 

Draco gave him a smile, hoping Potter and his’ tentative friendship wouldn’t disintegrate over the awkwardness between them.

“Just keep to your side of the couch next time.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

***

_June 24th, 2008_

_Draco fucking Malfoy, I swear to Merlin that if I had a voice you’d be receiving a Howler right now!_

_You thought that you could just drop everything and leave to bloody India (??!!!) without telling me? I don’t even know why you’ve decided to fuck off. I know it has something to do with Stori but she won’t tell me anything either… at this point, I can’t be sure that you’ve even told her where you’ve gone._

_I’ll keep your secret like you asked me to, but I’ve sent over a copy of the Prophet. They’re already talking shit (you deserve it)._

_I hope the owl bites you._

_Pansy._

_[Enclosed: A copy of Sunday’s Prophet with the headline: Quidditch Coach Ditched by Death Eater Boyfriend]_


	5. But I Can’t Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco can’t let go of Astoria just yet, but can he let go of Harry and return home?

He sat on the guest house's balcony swing, lightly pushing himself back and forth with his legs.

The view was nice. It overlooked the main road in front, allowing him to see the autos and cows and motorcycles that went past. It was also loud despite not being filled with traffic; birds and the distant honking of cars seemed to constantly penetrate the air. It was hot, too, despite the fan spinning above his head. He grabbed the bottle of water he had balanced on the seat next to him, taking a few gulps of the cool liquid to fight against the heat for a few moments longer.

Harry, who had turned from “Potter” to “Harry” at some point in the past few days after hearing the kids say it so often, was here too, tending to a few of the potted plants that were hanging from the rooftop around the balcony’s edge. They were all overgrown, but they added a certain kind of charm.

His mind strayed to Astoria. To the woman he loved. He still didn’t know when to go back; he didn’t know how to mend things between them. He knows her infidelity was partly his fault… he must’ve shut her out somehow. She could’ve told him, though, right? When had they gotten so bad at communicating? 

“What’s wrong?” asked Potter, catching his attention.

“Nothing, really, just thinking about Astoria.”

“I was wondering about Stori, actually, why didn’t she come with you?”

Draco almost hesitated in telling Harry about why he really came here but in the past few weeks they had become closer friends. They started learning about Indian magic with Nali aunty, and the old woman had began with teaching them wandless magic, which, of course, fueled their competitive nature that drove their Quidditch careers. Their sessions were filled with playful teasing rather than taunting, though, and this, in combination with how much time they naturally ended up spending together due to a lack of anything better to do, allowed a friendship to blossom.

“I apparated here straight out of an argument,” said Draco, “She snogged some other bloke a few weeks ago and we were arguing about it and someone had mentioned India earlier and l… I just spun around and ended up here.”

“Fuck,” said Harry, running a hand through his hair with an incredulous expression on his face, “You can apparate for such long distances?”

Draco let out a rough chuckle, “I love how that’s what you got out of that. It was the worst thing ever, I don’t recommend it.”

“I don’t even like apparating in general… I can’t imagine jumping continents,” said Harry, “No, but honestly, Draco, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize things were so… bad between you two.”

“I didn’t really realize it until recently either.”

Harry was quiet for a moment, mulling over his next few words, “Things between Ginny and I ended over an argument.”

Draco had always wondered about what happened between the two, who had broken up after nearly a decade together a couple of years back. He hadn’t been close enough to the man to get the full story before; he’d only known the basics he managed to scrounge up out of the article the Prophet had printed.

“We were fighting about family… She said I had stopped dating her for her but out of obligation to the Weasley’s. She wasn’t really wrong; the spark died out after a few years, and I was only with her because I didn’t feel like I could disappoint the Weasley’s. They are my family, you know? I didn’t realize that at the time, though. I remember that mid-argument she said something like, ‘Just because you didn’t have a family doesn’t mean you can steal mine,’ and that’s what really set me off on finding the Puttar’s.

“I could’ve fixed things, you know? Obviously I’m grateful that I found my family, but I didn’t have to let our relationship fall apart over lack of communication. We never really stopped arguing, so we never really got a clean break… I still don't know how to talk to her.” 

Draco wasn’t really sure what to say to that. He was never really sure how to react to anything regarding Harry, no matter how long it had been.

“So, are you going back?” asked Harry, pulling him to the present.

“Are you?” parroted Draco, not meeting Harry’s eyes and focusing his gaze on the henna tattoo covering his hand instead. He absently traced the swirls of the design with the fingertips of his other hand—avoiding the question he’d been asked by the other man.

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco’s response but answered anyways, ”Someday. I quite like being here. With the Puttar’s. Without the press. It’s a bit selfish, but I’ve learned that a little selfishness doesn’t hurt anyone—or at least that’s what my Mind Healer told me when I was still seeing her.”

“They weren’t wrong,” said Draco in reply despite knowing that staying in his case would be more than a little selfish.

“I need to go back,” he said honestly, answering Harry’s original question. He couldn’t leave things unfinished with Astoria, but he wasn’t sure how to finish things in the first place. 

He loved her, yes, but could he trust her? Could he stay with her if he didn’t trust her? And besides that, there was the issue that had been bothering him since they had gotten together: whether or not he was ruining her life by being with him. His ex-Death Eater status not only tarnished her reputation, but the reputation of her Quidditch team as well. Their relationship was already sinking under the weight of that, and he was sure that his recent lack of attentiveness had also worked to driven Astoria to infidelity. Had he just been hanging onto her for so long? Was this a sign to let go?

He couldn't tell. Not until he went back to speak to her.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” asked Harry, scratching absently at a mosquito bite on his leg, “Will you stay with her or leave her?”

“I don't know yet. I still need to talk to her.”

“You should make a decision, though, so you both figure things out properly rather than avoiding it when you get there. I know that I—”

“—We’re not you and Ginny, Potter! You don't need to rush me into something I don't want to do.” said Draco, cutting Harry off in annoyance.

Harry was stunned into silence. Draco stormed back into the house before he said something more, something he’d regret. 

***

A few days pass with Draco following Rani and Ravi out of the house for whatever errands they have to run. He likes India so far in spite of the heat and mosquitoes and the vague dumpster-like smell that seems to fill the air at all times.

Chennai itself, he has found, was the definition of a contradiction. It’s a strange mix of old and new, of dirty and clean, of nature and technology. Cows can often be seen walking slowly past shiny cars. Dusty, old, barley-holding-it-together shacks are pressed up against luxurious hotels. Trees and shrubs and moss and leaves creep onto the walls around them, waiting to encroach upon the sparkling windows of whichever building is the closest. There are people everywhere, and they talk—loud Tamil woven into soft-spoken English. It was a city of extremes, all of which are melded together into one messily unified culture, and Draco can barley get enough of it.

The glamour has worn off a bit, of course, as all things tend to do over time, but every day brought forth a new discovery. One day he woke up a little earlier than usual and found Rani and Ravi conducting their morning prayer, or pooja, and has joined them every morning since. He found that London was severely lacking in vegetarian options after tasting some of Rani’s food. He watched his first Bollywood movie and found himself loving the songs and dances that made the movie much more entertaining (Harry and Asha, on the other hand slept through the whole thing). He ate biryani for the first time on a banana leaf in some restaurant; it made his eyes water and his nose run, but the taste was worth it. He picked up the girls from school one day, and they taught him how to catch an auto on his own. They all went to the beach one night, all seven of them crammed into Ravi’s car, and ate questionable street food that made Draco and Harry have to fight (silently) for the bathroom the next morning.

He and Harry still hadn’t spoken more than two words to each other since their little half-argument. Draco couldn’t bring himself to dwell on it for too long; he had the Puttar’s to distract him.

He didn’t want to leave. Chennai was beginning to feel like home, and it scared him. This was temporary. He had Astoria to go back to. His Astoria, who he had written to only once to since getting here—an awkward, strained letter which had been replied to in a curt, tensely-written scrap of parchment.

How could he go back?

***

Ravi had arranged another magical education session with Nali aunty one evening. Draco, never one to miss an appointment, headed downstairs despite knowing he’d have to face Harry again. 

A headache was just beginning to form, its presence amplifying his dread. He’d just have to make it through an hour; then he could feign sickness and get out.

He made his way to the kitchen, where their lessons were usually conducted because Nali aunty had a tendency to teach while cooking dinner. She and Potter were already there. Nali paid no attention to his entrance, focusing on stirring whatever she was making (probably something vegetarian; the whole family was veg on Saturdays), and Potter sat up straighter in the stool he had been lounging on.

“Ah, Draco, you’re here?” said Nali, turning around, “Let’s get started,”

She was about to say something when she stopped suddenly, looking back and forth between Draco and Harry.

“You two are too tense. Leave.”

“What?” spluttered Harry. Draco felt equally as shocked. They had never been denied a lesson before, even in the beginning when things were new.

Nali aunty nodded, waving her hands in the air dismissively, “I can sense some negative energy brewing between you two. Go take a walk, get me some salt from the grocery store across the street. Talk and come back.”

She spun back around, leaving Draco and Harry with only the option of following her orders if they wanted to learn something today. They walked out of the kitchen, making their way outside to start the short walk to the grocery store across the street.

They didn’t speak to one another at first. Draco was still too annoyed at the other man’s attempt to control his life while Harry seemed to be studiously looking at his shoes. 

There was a rare lull in traffic, so they were just about to cross the street when Harry blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

Draco stopped suddenly, not expecting Harry to have spoken so soon, giving the flow of traffic enough time to come barreling towards him.

Harry grabbed his arm, yanking him back to the side of the street. The auto that was about to hit him rushed past him, horn blaring. 

“Shit, Draco, you can’t just stop like that! You didn’t survive a fucking war to get killed by an auto.” Harry’s breath was coming out in pants, his hands gripping Draco’s arms tightly. 

“Sorry,” Draco breathed out, still a bit dazed.

Harry cracked a smile, and began to lead them back towards the house, “That’s my line, yeah?” 

Draco couldn’t help but let out the laugh that bubbled up in his throat, “Yeah, yeah, that’s what got me into this mess in the first place.”

“Really, though, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I’ve always regretted how things fell apart between Ginny and I, and I didn’t want the same thing to happen to you and Astoria since... since you love her so much.” A strange expression crossed Harry’s face as he said the words, as if they were upsetting somehow. Perhaps it was the apology. Draco didn’t acknowledge the way Potter’s words about him loving Astoria made his mind spin.

“I’m sorry, too. I overreacted. I haven’t dealt with other people trying to advise me too well after the war... even after seeing a Mind Healer.”

“Ah, yes,” Harry said with a chuckle,”Being under the control of a Dark Lord tends to do that to you.”

They had ended up back at the house’s gates. Had someone told Draco ten years ago that he’d be face to face with Harry Potter in India, apologizing after an argument and joking about the Dark Lord, he would have referred them to St. Mungo’s.

Suddenly, wind began moving through the air in strong gusts. Tree branches swung back and forth, and he could hear the Puttar’s neighbors running outside to grab their laundry that was strung up outside. The sound of thunder filled his ears, and, suddenly, it was pouring rain.

He and Harry fumbled with the gate and ran indoors, slipping on the wet tiles of the front porch as they made their way inside. They got in, soaked and dripping water onto the floor, both of them breathing heavily after sprinting in.

He looked at Harry, who looked like a wet dog with his long hair flattened against his face, and burst out laughing. He was sure he looked similar, or even worse. Harry joined in, and both of them were clutching at their stomachs in seconds.

“Wait,” Draco said suddenly, in between chuckles, “We forgot to get the salt.”


	6. I’m Waiting For It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco doesn’t really know what he’s waiting for yet but... he’s definitely waiting for it.

Draco was in the backyard of the Puttar’s home, attempting to teach Asha and Nisha about Quidditch. It wasn’t as popular here in India, so Potter and himself had taken it upon themselves to teach the girls how it worked.

They were both on two old brooms they had found at the market, flying around and tossing a makeshift quaffle through an imaginary goalpost. Nisha and Asha sat in the grass below, tired after flying themselves.

The sun was blisteringly hot, and he was sure that his skin was bright red (Sun protection charms only did so much). Sweat ran down his back in rivulets; he really needed a bath. He thought he might take a break for a bit, maybe cast an Aguamenti. 

“I’m going to take a break, Harry! I’ll be back up in a second.” called out Draco.

“No, I’ll join you! It’s way too hot out.”

They both landed. As Draco dismounted his broom, he felt a wave of dizziness hit him. Black spots exploded across his vision, and he felt himself stumbling—no, falling into the grass. 

“Harry! Draco anna has fallen down!”

“Draco! Are you okay?” 

He didn’t have the energy to respond. It was hard for him to even breathe.

“Asha, get Rani aunty!”

An indeterminate amount of time passed before Rani came. A warm body, Harry, he thought it might have been, was pressed to his side, strong hands clutching his arms. Other hands, more slender, probed at his skin, pressing against his forehead and the bottom of his chin.

“Draco,” he heard Rani aunty’s reassuring voice say, “Are you alright? Can you hear me?” 

Draco could only manage a particularly unattractive grunt n response.

“He needs a cold bath and water. He’s probably just very dehydrated. He might be suffering from heat exhaustion.”

“Okay, I can help him do that,”

“After he seems more alert, let him rest in the AC room. I’ll go grab a Revitalizing Potion and meet you upstairs. And make sure he drinks plenty of water!”

He felt himself being tugged upwards. He thinks Harry casts a levitating charm on him because it doesn’t take a lot of effort to be dragged up the stairs. He vaguely registered being dragged into the bathroom, his clothes being shucked off—Draco thinks he might’ve been embarrassed, but he’s sure Potter’s seen it all at school anyways (Quidditch locker rooms weren’t exactly private). It was warm in the bathroom, humid, even, because of the lack of AC and the open windows and the Sun (which seemed to be conspiring against him). He was starting to feel dizzy again, his head pounding barley able to stay up, his breathing becoming more and more labored, when a freezing cold bucket of water was poured over him.

The icy water caused his eyes to shoot open, and he found himself staring into Harry’s green ones. The man was much closer to him than he thought, so close that he almost appeared out of focus. Draco realized that he was slumped against one of the bathroom walls, held upright solely because of Harry’s hand pinning him to the surface by one of his shoulders. The other man poured bucket after bucket of cold water onto Draco, slowly dragging him out of the haze he’d been trapped in.

“Harry,” he gasped out, water running over his face, “I think I’m fine.”

Harry stopped for a moment, hesitantly removed his hand from Draco’s shoulder, and searched Draco’s face for any sign of dishonesty. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I just forgot to drink a glass of water before we went outside. I’m fine now.”

Harry didn't look particularly convinced but nodded anyways. “Can you shower by yourself?”

“I think so,” replied Draco and tried to push himself off the bathroom wall. His legs were still weak, though, and buckled beneath him almost instantly. Harry immediately caught him by the arms, dragging him upright with an exasperated look on his face.

“Let me help you,” he said, “I need to shower too, it’s no trouble. It’s fine.”

“Okay,” choked out Draco, too tired to argue, embarrassment coloring his features.

Harry took off the clothes he had on, and Draco eyes may have drifted over him for longer than he’d care to admit. The man came up to him as he had before, though not as close as he had been previously. He grabbed a bar of soap and began to spread its suds across Draco’s arms and chest in smooth, long strokes, allowing it to lather nicely. The proximity made Draco’s heart race, and he hoped Harry couldn't feel it beating beneath his skin. 

His eyes wandered down the other man’s torso as he turned to grab the bucket of water. He had a tattoo: “Ginny” scrawled in dark black ink across his side.

“I didn't know you had a tattoo,” he said.

“We all bear marks we regret. They're healthy,” Harry replied, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. The words came out easily, as if they’d been said many times before.

Harry washed himself, and they rinsed off. Draco felt much more alert than he had before, and after a tentative few steps, he realized he had regained the ability to stand on his own. He reached for a towel, wrapping it around his waist and followed Harry out of the bathroom.

He was about to walk into his room to slip into some fresh clothes when he felt Harry grasp his arm, holding him back. “Hey,” he said.

“Yeah?” 

“You’re sure you're fine?”

“Definitely, I’ll just change and go sit in the AC room for a bit.” 

Harry stared at him, expression almost uncharacteristically intense. Draco found himself swaying forward the slightest bit, drawn to the man for a reason he couldn't explain. Harry seemed to lean inexplicably closer as well. He could feel the other man’s warm breath on his face, could see Harry's vibrant green eyes flutter to a close…

And Draco pulled back. 

“I’m fine,” he said firmly, imaginings how red his cheeks must've been. He didn't know what he was doing. He was tired; he needed to rest like Rani said to.

As he turned and walked into his room, he thought he heard the other man let out a harsh exhale. Draco was tempted to do the same.

 _Fuck._ He needed to leave soon.

***

The sky had been dark for hours when Harry walked into the AC room a few days later. Draco was dressed in his pajamas, as he usually was when it was a particularly hot day and he planned to sleep in here. He would've assumed Harry was doing the same, especially if he was walking in here rather than his room at this time of day, but Harry was dressed to go out.

“I’m going for a ride,” he said, “Come with me?”

“Where?”

“It’s just a drive around the city,” said Harry, mischievous smile dancing on his face.

“I don't know, Harry, It's late. I’m leaving early tomorrow.”

Harry’s smile morphed into a frown, “Please?”

“Fine,” Draco agreed, mostly because he knew he’d miss living with him when he returned. He also had a terrible feeling that this might be the last time he saw Harry, for he really couldn't blame the man if he wanted to stay here with the Puttar’s rather than returning to London.

He quickly changed, and they both went downstairs, taking the side door out so that they wouldn't wake the sleeping family within. 

“Are we catching an auto there?” asked Draco, barely able to suppress a childlike desire to show-off his auto catching skills to Harry.

“No,” said Harry, coming to a sudden stop in front of a hidden nook Draco hadn't noticed before, “We’re taking this.”

A motorcycle rested against the wall of the house, bigger than any of the ones Draco had seen on the streets here. “Where the fuck did you get this?” asked Draco with a laugh, excitement building within him.

“It's Sirius’.” he said, and Draco thought he might have heard about his rebellious cousin and his bike once, but he couldn't remember when. 

He didn't ask how Harry had gotten it here—because knowing him, he’d probably flown it here or something absurd like that—and just gestured for Harry to get on. The man obliged, and Draco got on behind him, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist.

Harry started the bike, and they took off, gliding through Chennai’s half-full streets with ease. The sensation was not unlike flying a broom, and Draco allowed himself to feel a small sliver of hope that maybe one day he’d learn to drive one of his own. He loved the blurry glimpses it gave him of the city; the buildings and roads were finally beginning to look familiar to him after the weeks he had spent there.

For an instant he was reminded of Astoria. Her love for flying, for speed, burned with a passion that rivaled his own. It was why she used to play Seekier for the Harpies. It was why she set her magi-wheelchair to move at the highest speeds when they went to the park. She’d love riding a bike like this had she been able to do so. 

They rode over a particularly large bump in the road, causing Draco to jerk upwards suddenly upon impact. He tightened his arms around Harry.

He didn't want to let go. 

*** 

The next morning Draco stood outside the Puttar house with the family.

Ravi uncle and Rani aunty had just performed a pooja for him, moving a small fire-lit lamp in small circles in around his arms and chest and face. Nisha and Ashawere at school; he had already said goodbye to them before they’d left. Only Rani, Ravi, Nali, and Harry were left.

“Goodbye, Nali aunty,” he said, “Thank you for everything you've taught me.”

“You’re a good wizard, Draco. There’s a positive energy around you. You’ll do well.” she replied, frail hand cupping his cheek for a moment.

Ravi uncle pressed a box into his hands. It’s an assortment of Indian sweets, and he almost wants to cry. Nisha and Asha and made Harry and himself to try a few a couple of days ago, and Ravi had packed a few of his favorites for him. A couple of Ladoos—sweet, yellow balls—nestled next to the cool, pieces of a milk sweet, Dhood Peda. The sight of them alone made Draco salivate. 

”Thank you,” whispered Draco, “I’ll come back, Ravi uncle, don't worry” Ravi nodded, giving him a strong pat on the back before pulling away.

Rani aunty said goodbye with a firm handshake and a stern look that reminded him so much of McGonagall that he might’ve believed they were related had he not known the truth. He was about to step back when she suddenly tugged him into a tender hug, engulfing him in a warmth only his Mother would have been able to replicate.

“Come back soon, Darling, okay?” she said. Draco nodded in response, not trusting his voice to come out without wavering.

He turned to face Harry. He held out his hand, the scene imitating a similar one from nearly two decades prior. Harry took it, shaking his hand firmly with an amused smile on his face.

“Write me,” was all Harry said.

“I will.”

***

He took a Portkey back to England, arriving at nearly midnight in the middle of his kitchen.

He found Astoria in the living room, sleeping on the couch. Not wanting to disturb her he made his way towards their bedroom, levitating his luggage behind him. One of his suitcases hit the door frame as it was going in, making a noise loud enough to make him wince.

Something hit him in the shoulder, hard. “Fuck.” he muttered, rubbing at the spot. It was a Stinging Hex. Astoria’s hex of choice when it came to self defense.

“Draco?” said Astoria, turning the lights on with a wave of her wand. 

“It's me,” he confirmed, eyeing her wand warily.

“Oh no, sorry! You scared me,” she said, rubbing her eyes, “What are you doing here?”

“I came back.”

He took a proper look at her in the bright light of the room. She had cut her hair. Wispy bangs brushed against her forehead, and the ends of her hair brushed against her collarbone looking impossibly soft. Her soft features were curled into a tentative smile, the same inviting expression that drew him to her all those years ago.

He’d met her a few months after the accident that paralyzed her. He had heard of her before, of course, through Pureblood functions and her sister, Daphne—but he had never actually spoken to her until they met at one of the first Pub Nights their friends had planned. 

They hit it off immediately; catching up for hours until the barman kicked them out. Their relationship started soon after that and things had been good between them until recently. Draco wasn’t sure if things would ever be good again.

“You must be tired. Would you like a cup of tea?” asked Astoria, her tone a little too severe to sound natural, breaking the silence which had erupted between them.

“Sure.”

He slunk into one of the kitchen stools, balancing his elbows on the countertop while Astoria made him a cup. They didn’t speak to each other, and it seemed like they had never spoken to each other while making tea, but it felt wrong in this instance.

He felt like a stranger in his own home.

She passed him a mug of Earl Gray. He murmured his thanks and took a sip, waiting for the relief that usually hit him when he had his favorite tea. It never came.

“Is it good?” asked Astoria.

“Yes.” he lied as he stared absently into the hot, reddish liquid. 

He wished to drink Chai instead.

***

_15th of July 2008_

_Harry,_

_I can’t sleep. I think the time difference has really messed me up… I have lunch with Astoria tomorrow, and I have a feeling that I’ll be relying on Pepper-Up Potion to make it through. (I’d A-K someone for another of Rani’s Revitalizing Potion. I have no idea why we don’t have that here)._

_I miss it there. London is too quiet, too boring, too dreary. I didn’t think I’d miss India’s sun but here I am, wishing for even a fraction of that heat._

_I miss the Puttar’s too. I don’t think I ever understood why you were so attached to the Weasley’s until now. Families that you find for yourself are a blessing… no matter how vehemently Father may disagree._

_Send my love to Rani aunty, Ravi uncle, Nali aunty, Asha and Nisha. Let me know if they want anything they don’t get over there; I’ll owl it over or something._

_Write back soon. I know it’s hard for you to make the small brain of yours to work, but I’m sure you’ll manage._

_Regards,  
Draco_


	7. That Green Light, I Want It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco stops waiting and starts wanting.

Astoria and Draco were a few blocks from their flat, moving leisurely to keep down their heavy lunch.

Their lunch had been fine. Draco finally told Astoria about finding Potter and the Puttar’s. He’d told her about how smart Asha was, about Nisha’s wild antics, about Ravi’s dedication to his family (and to his talcum powder, applied without fail every night), and about Rani being the calmest person he had ever met. He mentioned that he and Potter had somehow become friends—she laughed at that (their rivalry had been quite infamous, after all). 

Astoria updated him on her Quidditch team (the Harpies’ seeker was performing better than usual), their Pub Nights (Blaise and Ron had become unlikely friends in Harry’s absence), and Pansy (who knew something was up and had not stopped silently pestering Astoria since he had left. Draco had to admire her persistence).

They lapsed into another silence. Astoria rolls down the street, her magi-wheelchair converted into a Muggle one, while he walks by her side. He wants to say something, but a knot has formed in the pit of his stomach and all the words are getting caught in his throat and he doesn’t know what to say what he wants to say and—

Astoria speaks. She had always been braver than him, he thinks. He called her a coward a few weeks ago because her family ran off during the war but that was nonsense. She was the strongest person he knew. Nothing could stop her, not her disability, not Draco, not anything.

So, when she said, “I don’t think we should be together anymore,” he had to remind himself not to object, that she—the bravest, strongest, person he knew—was saying this for a reason.

“How did things fall apart so quickly? What did I do wrong?”

“Draco,” she said, voice fierce, “Get your head out of your arse. This isn’t about you, this is about us. We both messed up here.

“You’ve put me on a pedestal, Draco. I do no wrong in your eyes, just because I didn’t partake in the war and you did, and I couldn’t really stand not being seen as an equal.”

“Astoria, I never intended to—“ Draco began, but Astoria cut him off. 

“I know you didn’t mean to, Draco, but it happened. We can’t change the past,” she glanced down at his Mark, and he knew what she meant, “So we have to accept it.”

Draco nodded in agreement, something loosening in his chest. Astoria had always been brutally honest, and although the words were difficult to hear, he knew he needed them.

“Things have been falling apart for a long time, Draco. I should’ve told you how I felt much, much earlier but instead I acted out. I kissed a random man in a random pub because he made me feel like an equal. 

“It isn’t your fault, Darling, you’ve been underestimating yourself for years. You can’t help it. The War messed all of us up a little bit, yeah? It’s why we all went to see Mind Healers. You haven’t seen yourself grow into the kind man you are. You work at a job the requires you to respect and be open towards other cultures, something you were taught not to do, and you love it. You talk about these kids—Asha and Nisha, right?—constantly, and you’ve only been back for a couple of days. You were the only one who stood by me for so long, through everything, really—remember when I couldn’t even get to the washroom by myself?” she finished with a laugh, the sound was like music.

“You’re wonderful, Draco,” she said, forcing him to meet her eyes by stopping in the middle of the pavement, “You just need to accept yourself before you can before you can accept someone else into your life. I didn’t think I’d be saying this, but I have to admit that this trip might’ve been good for you. These people you’ve found there seem to like you for who you are and hopefully they’ve shown you that you can spare a good thought or two for yourself.”

“Thank you,” he told Astoria, a wobbly smile on his face, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replied, nudging him lightly, “and don’t worry, you’re not the only one with issues, yeah? I’m shit at talking about my problems”

Draco laughed.

***

_25th of July 2008_

_Draco,_

_They all miss you terribly; I can tell. You keep coming up in conversations—“Draco this…” and “Draco that…”—it’s bloody annoying. They love you more than you loved yourself in school (I didn’t think that was possible). I don’t know how much more I can take. Come back soon to make them stop._

_I can’t say I’m surprised you didn’t understand the whole “found family” thing until now, you’ve never been the sharpest wand in the box._

_Yours,  
Harry_

***

_3rd of August 2008_

_Bugger off, Potter. At least I was smart enough to help Nisha with her schoolwork unlike some people..._

_Draco_

***

_11th of August 2008_

_Take that back you bloody bastard! (Can you tell I’ve been spending too much time with Ravi uncle? He still says that all the time)._

_Harry_

***

Blaise chose the pub that night, some moody place with bad lighting. Usually Draco bribes Blaise into letting him choose the pub when it’s his turn because Blaise is shit at choosing pubs, but Draco wasn’t able to do this time for obvious reasons.

The main issue was that it was a bit of a trek to get there, as it was situated at the end of their usual street on the Muggle side rather than the Wizarding. All of them were walking there because Astoria couldn’t apparate into a nearby alley due to her chair (nor could she use an unmodified Floo for that matter). Normally, they would have objected to such effort on a Friday night, but Blaise _insisted_ that this was the spot to be at. Idiot.

Weasley, Granger, Ginny and Blaise walked ahead, engrossed in some conversation about the aesthetics of the pub or something. Neville was wheeling Astoria, catching up on the latest Quidditch stats. He, Pansy, and Luna hung behind, talking about his time in India.

Pansy had been furious when she had first seen him, signing angrily for nearly ten minutes (one hand striking out to hit him every time his eyes strayed away from her). She’d gotten over it, though, engulfing him in what he thought might’ve been the longest hug they’d ever shared. The pashmina Asha had helped him pick out for her as a gift had also helped. She had been toying with it since he gave it to her, wrapping it around her throat to cover the curse scar that had stolen her voice, a mark she had been self-concious about since the War.

Luna, his colleague in the Ministry’s department of Magical Research, had just returned from Ghana. She hadn’t gone on an impulse, though, and he was sure their boss would be happier to see her than him. Both of them exchanged stories of foreign magic and about Wizards living amongst Muggles. He told her about India’s focus on precision without a wand, and she told him about Africa’s emphasis on ancient rituals rather than spells. They both agreed that the Wizards in those continents wielded magic more effectively than European ones did.

He told them about the Puttar’s, the memories of them filling him with bittersweet emotions. The more he spoke about them the more he found himself yearning to see them again, something he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do in the near future.

Draco stumbled to a stop suddenly, eyes drawn to the front of the restaurant he had eaten at so long ago. Karma—where everything had started. He wondered if Vijay was still working there. 

Pansy and Luna stopped with him, but he waved them onwards—not wanting them to lose sight of their friends in the midst of London’s nightlife. 

A few moments later he heard someone come up beside him. “I told you that you could go, Pansy, don’t worry—“ he began, turning his head towards the sound and catching sight of… Astoria.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me,” she replied, mocking him by imitating his voice, “What are you doing, you bloody tortoise? Everyone’s already at the pub.”

“I ate at this restaurant before I left. It’s why I decided on India in the first place.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, instead turning to face the restaurant. Draco peeked through the window, trying to catch a proper glimpse of the restaurant he had loved. The restaurant’s mood lighting was visible from within, and it cast a green glow on their faces.

“I think you need to go back,” said Astoria, turning to face him.

“What?” replied Draco, shocked.

“I think you need to go back to India. It was good for you, wasn’t it? You were happy there?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, thinking of the family he had left behind, thinking of Harry, thinking of how they made him feel as if he was worth their kindness. He looked back at the restaurant, at the green light—it seemed like a sign, a reason to Go.

He looked back at Astoria, who gave him a reassuring nod, another green light, urging him to leave, to move, to go. 

He apparated away.

***

He ended up on the rooftop terrace of the Puttar home, apparating straight into a clothesline full of wet laundry. It’s going to rain; the sky is dark and brimming with clouds.

He pushed away the clothes and fumbled his way inside, sprinting down the concrete stairs that led to the second floor, to the guest house, to Harry.

He pushed his way in, and found Harry sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly into a mug of tea or coffee or whatever. The room is too dim; the other man’s figure is a shadow hanging over the kitchen counter.

Harry’s head snapped up, eyes widening, “Draco, what are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t stay,” Draco managed to get out in between pants, clutching at the pain in his side, “I missed this.” He doesn’t specify what _this_ is.

Harry stumbled out of his chair, getting closer and closer and closer to Draco. He thought the other man might’ve meant to go in for a handshake or a even hug, but Harry’s lips end up pressing against his instead. An accident. A miracle. 

They broke apart and fell back into one another again. Harry’s hands are on his shoulders, sliding up his neck, running through his hair. Draco’s lips are at his jaw, dancing across his collarbone, pressing into his skin. He can’t get enough of him.

”Wait,” said Harry, jerking away from him, gasping for air, “Is this okay? Are you okay with this?”

For a moment, all Draco felt was happiness. Harry’s words were so, so endearing because he _knew_ this was okay, technically. He knew that Astoria and himself had split a few weeks ago, that Draco was working on moving on from it—that Draco was finding it both easier and harder than expected to do so—because of the letters that had been fluttering between the two for the pasts few weeks. Harry knew all this, yet he still asked Draco if it was okay with him; Draco adored him for it

”I... I don’t know if I want to start something yet. I don’t know if I’m ready for anything serious,” said Draco honestly, earnestly.

“We could just see how things go? Is that something you want?” Harry replied, voice light and easygoing and utterly refreshing.

He opened his mouth for a moment, poised to reply, but stopped. Harry’s eyes were shining, sparkling green lights against the dimness of the room, and Draco leaned back in (he couldn’t help himself, really)—wanting more.

**Author's Note:**

> Novaa, I hope this fic met your expectations even though I went a little off track in regard to interpretation and the song’s New-York-at-night aesthetic. It was a big idea, one that’s been running around in my head for a while, and the prompt just seemed to fit. With all that said, it probably could’ve been executed a bit better— but I’m satisfied (and I hope that you and anyone else who read this are too). 
> 
> On another note, I took a few liberties when writing this based on personal choice and my own expertise, including but not limited to:
> 
> 1\. Interpretation of the song. The general meaning—looking for the “green light” to move on— remains the same but aspects of the song’s plot were changed. (Side note: the lyrics of each chapter title correspond to their respective chapter but those lyrics may be reflected through the context given by the song and/or through the context of the story itself.)
> 
> 2\. Characteristics of India. I have been to India, particularly Chennai, myself multiple times so most of my writing is based off of personal experiences. Despite my attempt to make it appear as authentic as possible, small details may be incorrect, for I am not a native.
> 
> 3\. Use of British Sign Language. I have no experience with BSL (or even ASL), so my use of it is probably extremely flawed. My main intention in including it was to promote the representation of those who use it as a form of communication.


End file.
